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THE 



OLD SERGEANT, 



AND OTHER POEMS 



FORCEYTHE WILLSON. 




BOSTON : 

TICKNOR AND FIELDS. 

1867. 



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"PS ^329 

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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by 

FORCEYTHE WILLSON, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 

OtfL 

W. h, Shoemakor 

7 s 'as 



University Press : Welch, Bigelow, & Co., 
Cambridge. 



Under the infinite arches 

Of this Temple old and vast 
Thou art come to Me at last. 

The Mountains shall be thy step-stones, 
Thy vestibule the Skies, 
Unto all that beyond them lies. 



CONTENTS. 

— •— 

Page 

The Old Sergeant 7 

Arpeggios. 

The Mystic Thought 21 

The Dell 23 

" And the Beautiful, in her faintness, smiled " 28 

The Dew-Drop 31 

In the Dark 33 

The Estray 36 

The Apotheosis of Apollo 37 

Diana of the Hunt .40 

To Hersa 42 

Sphere-Song ......... 46 

The Rhyme of the Master's Mate .... 49 

In State 69 

Emancipation Hymn 78 

Ecce Signum 80 

The Church 83 

A Valedictory 85 



VI CONTENTS. 

The Poet's Epilogue. 

Autumn Song 93 

The Enemy 94 

The Last Watch 99 

L' Incoronata 101 

No More 105 

La Scintilla 106 

The Voice no 

I said to the Rose 114 



THE OLD SERGEANT 



IN ME MOR Y 

OF 

THE IMMORTAL HEROES AND MARTYRS 

OF 

EMANCIPATION. 



Jan. i, 1863. 



THE OLD SERGEANT. 
Jan. i, 1863. 

The Carrier cannot sing to-day the ballads 

With which he used to go, 
Rhyming the glad rounds of the happy New Years 

That are now beneath the snow : 

For the same awful and portentous Shadow 

That overcast the earth, 
And smote the land last year with desolation, 

Still darkens every hearth. 

And the carrier hears Beethoven's mighty death- 
march 

Come up from every mart ; 
And he hears and feels it breathing in his bosom, 

And beating in his heart. 



8 THE OLD SERGEANT. 

And to-day, a scarred and weather-beaten veteran, 

Again he comes along, 
To tell the story of the Old Year's struggles 

In another New Year's song. 

And the song is his, but not so with the story ; 

For the story, you must know, 
Was told in prose to Assistant-Surgeon Austin, 

By a soldier of Shiloh : 

By Robert Burton, who was brought up on the 
Adams, 

With his death-wound in his side ; 
And who told the story to the Assistant-Surgeon, 

On the same night that he died. 

But the singer feels it will better suit the ballad, 

Tf all should deem it right, 
To tell the story as if what it speaks of 

Had happened but last night. 



THE OLD SERGEANT. 



"Come a little nearer, Doctor, — thank you, — let 

me take the cup : 
Draw your chair up, — draw it closer, — just another 

little sup ! 
May be you may think I 'm better ; but I 'm pretty 

well used up, — 
Doctor, you 've done all you could do, but I 'm 

just a going up ! 

" Feel my pulse, sir, if you want to, but it ain't 

much use to try " — 
" Never say that/' said the Surgeon, as he smothered 

down a sigh ; 
"It will never do, old comrade, for a soldier to 

say die ! " 
" What you say will make no difference, Doctor, 

when you come to die." 



10 THE OLD SERGEANT. 

" Doctor, what has been the matter ? " " You were 
very faint, they say ; 

You must try to get to sleep now." "Doctor, 
have I been away ? " 

"Not that anybody knows of!" "Doctor — Doc- 
tor, please to stay ! 
There is something I must tell you, and you won't 
have long to stay ! 

"I have got my marching orders, and I'm ready 

now to go ; 
Doctor, did you say I fainted? — but it could n't 

ha' been so, — 
For as sure as I 'm a Sergeant, and was wounded at 

Shiloh, 
I 've this very night been back there, on the old 

field of Shiloh ! 

" This is all that I remember : The last time the 
Lighter came, 



THE OLD SERGEANT. 11 

And the lights had all been lowered, and the noises 

much the same, 
He had not been gone five minutes before something 

called my name : 
' Orderly Sergeant — Robert Burton ! ' — just 

that way it called my name. 

" And I wondered who could call me so distinctly 

and so slow, 
Knew it could n't be the Lighter, — he could not 

have spoken so — 
And I tried to answer, ' Here, sir ! ' but I could n't 

make it go ; 
For I couldn't move a muscle, and I couldn't 

make it go ! 

"Then I thought: It's all a nightmare, all a hum- 
bug and a bore ; 

Just another foolish grape-vine * — and it won't 
come any more; 

* Canard. 



12 THE OLD SERGEANT. 

" But it came, sir, notwithstanding, just the same 
way as before : 
' Orderly Sergeant — Robert Burton ! ' — even 
plainer than before. 

" That is all that I remember, till a sudden burst 
of light, 

And I stood beside the River, where we stood that 
Sunday night, 

Waiting to be ferried over to the dark bluffs oppo- 
site, 
When the river was perdition and all hell was 
opposite ! — 

" And the same old palpitation came again in all its 

power, 
And I heard a Bugle sounding, as from some celestial 

Tower ; 
And the same mysterious voice said : ' It is the 

eleventh hour ! 
Orderly Sergeant — Robert Burton — it is the 

eleventh hour ! ' 



THE OLD SERGEANT. 13 

"Doctor Austin! — -what day is this?" "It is 

Wednesday night, you know." 
" Yes, — to-morrow will be New Year's, and a right 

good time below ! 
What time is it, Doctor xiustin ? " " Nearly Twelve." 

" Then don't you go ! 
Can it be that all this happened — all this — 

not an hour ago ! 

" There was where the gunboats opened on the dark 

rebellious host ; 
And where Webster semicircled his last guns upon 

the coast ; 
There were still the two log-houses, just the same, 

or else their ghost, — 
And the same old transport came and took me 

over — or its ghost ! 

" And the old field lay before me all deserted far 

and wide ; 
There was where they fell on Prentiss, — there Mc- 

Clernand met the tide ; 



14 THE OLD SERGEANT. 

There was where stern Sherman rallied, and where 
Hurlbut's heroes died, — 
Lower down, where Wallace charged them, and 
kept charging till he died. 

" There was where Lew Wallace showed them he 
was of the canny kin, 

There was where old Nelson thundered, and where 
Eousseau waded in ; 

There McCook sent 'em to breakfast, and we all be- 
gan to win — 
There was where the grape-shot took me, just as 
we began to win. 

" Now, a shroud of snow and silence over everything 

was spread ; 
And but for this old blue mantle and the old hat 

on my head, 
I should not have even doubted, to this moment, I 

was dead, — 
For my footsteps were as silent as the snow upon 

the dead ! 



THE OLD SERGEANT. 15 

" Death and silence! — Death and silence ! all around 
me as I sped ! 

And behold, a mighty Tower, as if builded to the 
dead, — 

To the Heaven of the heavens, lifted up its mighty- 
head, 
Till the Stars and Stripes of Heaven all seemed 
waving from its head ! 

" Round and mighty-based it towered — up into the 

infinite — 
And I knew no mortal mason could have built a shaft 

so bright ; 
For it shone like solid sunshine ; and a winding 

stair of light, 
Wound around it and around it till it wound clear 

out of sight ! 

"And, behold, as I approached it — with a rapt and 

dazzled stare, — 
Thinking that I saw old comrades just ascending 

the great Stair, — 



16 THE OLD SERGEANT. 

Suddenly the solemn challenge broke of — ' Halt, 
and who goes there ! 7 
1 I'm a friend/ I said, ' if you are.' — ' Then ad- 
vance, sir, to the Stair ! ' 

"I advanced! — That sentiy, Doctor, was Elijah 

Ballantyne! — 
First of all to fall on Monday, after we had formed 

the line ! — 
' Welcome, my old Sergeant, welcome ! Welcome 

by that countersign ! ' 
And he pointed to the scar there, under this old 

cloak of mine ! 

" As he grasped my hand, I shuddered, thinking only 

of the grave ; 
But he smiled and pointed upward with a bright and 

bloodless glaive : 
' That 7 s the way, sir, to Head-quarters/ ' What 

Head-quarters ! ' — 'Of the Brave.' 
But the great Tower ? ' — ' That/ he answered, 

' Is the way, sir, of the Brave ! ' 



THE OLD SERGEANT. 17 

" Then a sudden shame came o'er me at his uniform 

of light; 
At my own so old and tattered, and at his so new 

and bright ; 
1 Ah! ; said he, ' you have forgotten the New Uni- 

' form to-night, — 
Hurry back, for you must be here at just twelve 

o'clock to-night ! ' 

" And the next thing I remember, you were sitting 
there, and I — 

Doctor — did you hear a footstep ? Hark ! — God 
bless you all ! Good by ! 

Doctor, please to give my musket and my knap- 
sack, when I die, 
To my Son — my Son that s coming, — he won't 
get here till I die ! 

"Tell him his old father blessed him as he never 

did before, — 
And to carry that old musket " — Hark ! a knock is 

at the door ! — 



18 THE OLD SERGEANT. 

"Till the Union — " See! it opens ! — " Father ! 
Father ! speak once more ! " — 
11 Bless you!" — gasped the old, gray Sergeant, 
And he lay and said no more ! 



ARPEGGIOS 



THE MYSTIC THOUGHT. 

There came a Mystic Thought to me ; 

If any soul should ask me, " Whence ? " 
I can but say, I could not see, 

Nor hear nor feel, in any sense. 
As the glory of the rising moon 
Is duplicated in the lagoon, 
Or gleams on the old tower and its spire, 
Till the cross becomes a cross of fire, — 
So that strange Thought, serene and lone, 
Rose on my dark soul, and it shone ! 

Shouldst ask me, if an Angel brought 
This strange, this sweet and secret Thought ? 
I could but say, I do not know ! 
It came as comes the guiding glow 



22 THE MYSTIC THOUGHT. 

From Heaven's high shrines ; or as the snow 
On the dark hill-tops ; or as bloom 

The intimations of a God 
In every violet of the tomb, 

And every pansy of the sod. 

It came, unbidden, — as it went, — 
A winged, wandering Sentiment, 
That for a moment fanned my lyre 
With passing wings, of faint, white fire : 
Five finger-tips were touched to mine, 
Most lightly : and a drop of wine, 
Or dew, fell on my lips. At last, 
A breath, — a seeming kiss — 

it passed ! 



THE DELL. 

Two Poets live and work at will 

In the highlands by the river-sheen : 
One hath his harp and domicile 
Up on the sun-kindled, wind-kissed hill ; 
And one, his shrine somewhere in the still, 
Divinely tenanted secrecy of the inviolable ravine. 

He, the Young Poet, who exults 

Up on the hill-top, all alone ; 
And feels along his veins the pulse 

Of Nature stronger than his own ; 
His subtle thought and sacred chime 
Have caught and charmed the ear of Time ; 
His name and fair-found fellowship 
Are honored on the living lip. 



24 THE DELL. 

But the Old Poet, who hath wreaked 
The spirit of his ancient spell 

On the rugged granite scarped and peaked, 
Down in the shadow of the Dell — 

There is no servitor to show 

The pilgrim to his portico. 



No voice is ever audible 

With " Welcome and thrice welcome, sire ! " 

However just and laudable 

The motive of the visitor ; 
No jarring of a vexed lyre 
With, " Hark ye, sirrah, go thy way ! " 

To awe an uncouth quisitor 
For trespass or for overstay. 

But should some churl, eschewed of grace, 
Shew there his melancholy face, 



THE DELL. 25 

And biting his curled lip exclaim : 
" Ye gods, why did ye make the place ? 

An utter waste, — It is a shame ! — 
A mere chance causey, through and through, 

— Could come of nothing but misrule! 
Tut, tut, poor rocks, I pity you, 

The Master here must be a fool ! " 

The Rock would answer deep and cool : 
" I pity you — I pity you — 

The Master here must be a fool." 



But should the heaven-loved Elinor, 

Who bideth but a little while 
Ere we shall clasp her hand no more, 
Kneel down in secret there and pray, 

With her last breath and dying smile, 
" Dear Spirit, come to me to-day ! " 
A Voice within, perchance, might say: 
" Dear Spirit, come to me to-day. 11 

3 



26 THE DELL. 

And in that Dell there is no tree, 
No leaf nor flower, no bird nor bee, 

No lifeless, and no living thing, 

But feels the fine forefingering 
Of his inimitable fantasy ; 

Is there, no rivulet nor stream, 

No earth-born shade nor heaven-born beam, 
But hath some slight, especial part 

In the romantic work and dream 
Of this Old Poet's mind and heart. 

The merest animated mite 

That revelled in his tiny rings 
Ten thousand years ago to-night, 
And was so whimsically slight, 

He never knew the need of wings ; 
But rose in ecstasy with light, 
And shed his little overplight 
Of mortal ashes in one flight ; 

The busy-footed centipede, 



THE DELL. 27 

That crept his native leaflet's rim, 
Till he wore off from every limb 

His birth-woof, with instinctive speed, 
And ran regenerate up the reed, — 
Had instinct of the Poet's need, 
And kept fine harmony with him : 
And all, according to their meed, 
Are there embalmed, forevermore, amid his cryp- 
tographic tomes. 



AND THE BEAUTIFUL, IN HER FAINT- 
NESS, SMILED." 



The Beautiful lived in the Land of the Blest, 
By the Beautiful River that winds to the West, 
Through the Valley that True Love loves the best. 

But she did not live in a castle-tower, 
Nor yet on a throne ; but like a flower, 
With the infinite canopy for her bower. 

And under her leafy balcony, 

At a lattice dear to the honey-bee, 

And the humming-bird, — was a Tulip-tree. 

And among its leaves was the hidden nest, 

Of a Wonderful Bird with a luminous crest, 

And the dew and the blue on its wings and breast : 



AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 29 

And there at the lattice, and all alone, 
The strange Bird sang in a low, sweet tone, 
As a soul doth to itself make moan ! 

And the first that ever the Beautiful heard 

Of its plaintive lay, she loved the bird, 

For her heart was touched, and her soul was stirred. 

And as soon as the day had gone to rest, 
She always arose with the Star in the West, 
And opened her casement to the nest. 

Then from the leafy aureole 

Of the Tulip-tree a sweet strain stole, 

And kissed to sleep her white-robed soul ! 

And the Beautiful was beatified, 

And blushed in her dream like a bashful bride, 

When her heart's Heart first beats at her side. 



30 AND THE BEAUTIFUL. 

For she dreamed . . . that her lone guest, 

With the heavenly music in its breast, 

Was the Soul that, of all souls, loved her best. 

And the rapturous heart-warmth of the rose, 
Seemed to blend with the purity of the snows, 
In the perfect sweetness of her repose. 

— But once, as the night rose to depart, 
The Beautiful woke with a sudden start, 
And a fluttering, as it were, in her heart ; 

And she put forth her hands in wistful quest, 
And a Living Wonder lay on her breast, 
That had just fluttered down, as it were, from the 
nest! 

And the Beautiful, in herfaintness, smiled. 



THE DEW-DROP. 

Fairy fingers always pluck 

Sprigs of spring for summer luck, — 

Leaf, and slip, and clover-head, 

No bee hath o'er-hovered, — 

The dew upon the clover-top 

Must tremble, but it must not drop ! 

For when the bats begin to flit, 
And the glimmering lawns are lit 
Momently with a fire-fly light, 
Thro' the lattice of twilight, 
Tiny fingers of moonshine 
With my lute-strings intertwine ! 



32 THE DEW-DROP. 

Moonshine-fingers, winter-clear, 
With my lute-strings interfere ! 
Fairies bring the clover-top, 
And shake down the sweet Dew-Drop ; 
It lights and trembles on my lips, 
And thus into a song it slips : 

Marry, in the moonlight, marry, marry ! 
The lily-queen trembles and leans to the lily 
Which for the love of her grows nearest! 
Whispering, "Wake Willie, wake Willie, wake Willie, 
Breath o' my life, Willie, 
Willie my dearest I 

Marry, in the moonlight, marry, marry, 
The sweetest is given, and given and taken I 
Queenly Beloved, thou art the nearest ; 
And Willie is a-waiting for you to awaken 1 
Awaiting — awaiting — 
For you to awaken ! 



IN THE DARK. 

Hush — was there anything in the dark — 
Like a whisper or cry in the dark ? 
" Darling — my Darling," were the words that 

seemed 
To be breathed in my ear ! — but I must have 
dreamed ! 
It was only a dream I know, — but hark ! 
Is there anything, anything more in the dark ? 

" Darling — my Darling " — again in the dark ! 

As it used to be in the dark ! 
And fingers of spirit-like tenderness 
Are intertwined lovingly with my tress ; 

I know it is only a dream — but hark ! 

Is there anything, anything more in the dark ? 
2* c 



34 IN 3?HE DARK. 

"0 Darling ! " — again and again in the dark ! 

Like a whisper of love in the dark ! 
And then, as of old, his brave arm seems 
To fold me up in his loving dreams : 

I know that it never will be, — but hark ! 

Is there anything, anything more in the dark ? 

Ah — yes ! there is something more in the dark, 

There is something more in the dark ! 
All alone In The Dark am I, 
And sick unto death — but I cannot die ! 

And I must not die ! — but hark, hark ! 

Is there anything, anything more in the dark ? 

Yes ! Now, there is something more, In The Dark ! 

There is something more, now, In The Dark ! 
Here in my bosom it pleads : " Don't die : " 
A " miniature " ? — Yes, and a little cry ! 

A little forlorn and forsaken Spark, 

That will soon go out in the Rain and the Dark ! 



IN THE DARK. 35 

come to me ! Gome to me ! here In The Dark ! 

As you used to, you know — in the dark ! 
And call me your " dear little wife " once more, 
Just as you did in the days of yore ! 

And kiss me ! And bless me ! And oh! — but hark ! 

There is nothing more — nothing more — In The 
Dark! 



THE ESTRAY. 

" Now tell me, my merry woodman, 

Why standest so aghast ? " 
" My lord ! — 't was a beautiful creature 

That hath but just gone past ! " 

" A creature — what kind of a creature ? " 
" Nay now, but I do not know ! " 

" Humph — what did it make you think of ? " 
" The sunshine on the snow." 

" I shall overtake my horse then : " 
The woodman opened his eye : — 

The gold fell all around him, 
And a rainbow spanned the sky. 



THE APOTHEOSIS OF APOLLO. 

" I will follow thee, follow thee, follow thee, 

With the god-speed of Endeavor ; 
Till thou wholly yieldest up to me 
The elixir and the ecstasy 
Of thy Love and thine Immortality, 

And crownest me forever ! " 

And the Poet sped, sped, sped, 

To the foot of the Heavenly Mountain, 

With the Sunshine's prance and the Lightning's 
tread ; 

And the sword-flash of his Soul smote dead 

The terrible Dragon The Beautiful bred 
To guard her Sacred Fountain ! 



38 THE APOTHEOSIS OF APOLLO. 

To the Bath — whence even the gods are kept 

For ever and ever banished, — 
In the passionate speed of his soul he swept ; 
But into the Fountain the Goddess leaped, 
And mingled and mounted, and smiled and wept, 

In a rainbow as she vanished ! 

" But ho ! by the gods/ 7 he cried and lo, 

And into the Bath he bounded ! 
And flinging his mantle off into the flow, 
Rose pure, and swift and pure — ho ! ho ! — 
As a shaft of light from the beautiful Bow, 

Into the clouds he mounted 

Into the clouds — ho ! ho ! — 

And into her bower he darted ; 
But the clouds dissolved with a golden glow, 
That gilded the Mountain's crown below ; 
And the rain fell blossoming into snow, 

And The Beautiful had departed. 



THE APOTHEOSIS OF APOLLO. 39 

Had slid, slid up, with a sunbeam's sleight, 
And with the sunbeams blended, — 

Had glided up like the light of light, 

Through the misty abysses of Death aud Night, 

To the Fountain-head of Divine Delight, 
And into the sun ascended ! 

But swifter than all that darts or gleams, 

Was the Poet's rapt endeavor ; 
And up from the world, and its cloudy schemes, 
He flashed to the Sun in his deathless dreams ; 
And The Beautiful crowned him with the beams 

Of her Glory and Love forever ! 



DIANA OF THE HUNT. 

All can see, in the shining places, 
Vestiges of her classic graces ; 
Where her footsteps, fleet and stark, 
Have beautifully embossed the dark. 

We know indeed, that the stately and golden 
Antlers, hunters and heroes olden, 
Wood-nymph, satyr, and sylvan faun, — 
Goddess and stag, are gone ! — all gone ! 

But still, — as strange as it may appear, — 
Sometimes when the nights are bright and clear, 
The long-breathed hounds are heard to bay 
Over the hills and far away ! 



DIANA OF THE HUNT. 41 

And lovers who walk at Love's high Noon, 
See something flash in the light of the moon, 
As a shining stag swept through the sky, 
And the chase of the goddess were up, on high. 

But be this as it may, in sooth, 
It is only in the pursuit of Truth, 
That the Soul shall overtake and possess 
The most exalted Happiness. 



TO HERSA. 

Maiden, there is something more 
Than raiment to adore : 
Thou must have more than a dress, 
More than any mode or mould, 
More than mortal loveliness, 
To captivate the cold. 

Bow the knightly when they bow, 
To a star behind the brow : 
Not to marble, not to dust ; 

But to that which warms them : 
Not to contour nor to bust ; 

But to that which forms them : 
Not to languid lid nor lash, 
Satin fold nor purple sash ; 
But unto the living flash 



TO HERSA. 43 

So mysteriously hid 
Under lash and under lid. 

But — vanity of vanities, — 

If the red-rose in a young cheek, lies, 

Fatal disguise ! 
For the most terrible lances 
Of the True, true Knight, 
Are his bold eyebeams ; 
And every time that he opens his eyes, 
The Falsehood that he looks on, dies. 

If the heavenly light be latent, 
It can need no earthly patent. 

Unbeholden unto art, 

Fashion or lore, 

Scrip or store, 

Earth or ore, 

Be thy heart, 
Which was music from the start, 
Music, music to the core. 



44 TO HERSA. 

Music, which, though voiceless, 

Can create 

Both form and fate, 

As Petrarch could a sonnet. 

That, taking flesh upon it, 

Spirit-noiseless, 

Doth the same inform and fill 

With a Music sweeter still, — 

Lives, and breathes, and palpitates, 

Moves, and moulds, and animates, 

And sleeps not from its duty 

Till the maid in whom H is pent, 

From a mortal rudiment, 

From the earth-cell 

And the love-cell 
By the birth-spell 

And the love-spell, 
Come to beauty. 

Beauty is music mute, 
Music's flower and fruit, 



TO HERSA. 45 

Music's lute : 
Music's lute be thou, 
Maiden of the starry brow, 
(Keep thy heart true to know how !) 
A Lute which he alone, 
As all in good time shall be shown, 
Shall prove and thereby make his own, 
Who is god enough to play upon it. 

Happy, happy maid is she 

Who is wedded unto Truth ! 

Thou shalt know him, when he comes, 

(Welcome youth !) 
Not by any din of drums, 
Nor the vantage of his airs ; 
Neither by his crown, 
Nor his gown, 
Nor by anything he wears. 
He shall only well-known be, 
By the holy Harmony 
That his coming makes in thee ! 



SPHERE-SONG. 

Once upon a time, 
Through the crevice of mine ear, 
The Music of the Sphere 

Ran into rhyme : 

" Wouldst possess the starry treasure, 
Elixir of Life and Pleasure ? 

" Only Truth is never olden, 
Truth alone is ever golden. 

" On whatever plain thou pitchest, 
E'en the True man is the richest. 



SPHERE-SONG. 47 

"And of all for whom thou waitest, 
Aye the True man is the greatest. 

" But, as most of all behooveth, 
He alone is Good who Loveth : 

" And however false man proveth, 
He alone is True who Loveth : 

" Who loves earliest, best, and latest, 
Is the richest, best, and greatest ! " 

Then again all was at rest, 
In mine ear ; 
Till I cried: "0 Sphere! 
Who of all men loveth best ? " 

Then the Sphere resounded farther : 

" True King Alfred, True Knight Arthur ! 



4g SPHERE-SONG. 

" He that loveth like a lovei 
All that sin and all that suffer : 

" He that loves all forms and features, 
All creations and all creatures : 

" Loves all souls, and spheres, and spaces ; 
Loves all regions and all races : 

" Yet so loveth nothing" finite, 
But to God he can resign it : 

" Living greatly for the Whole-sake, 
Greatly suffering for the Soul-sake : 

"Drawing all with true Endeavor, 
To his heart of hearts forever." 

And lo, as I heard the last rhymes play, 
The bird that is most like a bee hove near, — 
Hummed the finale in mine ear, 
And whizzed away. 



THE RHYME 



OF 



THE MASTER'S MATE. 



There was something, perhaps, the Master knew 
Far better than we for his Mate to do. 



PRELUDE. 

The long roll of the drum and the last lonesome echo 

Of the Bugle's long-breathed lay, 
Like a mighty soul in the chariot of his triumph, 

Hath gone its heavenward way. 

And a solemn hush, a deep and world-wide si- 
lence, 

Broods on the strife at last ; 
The armaments that shook the world beneath them 

Dissolve into the Past. 

Like the vast enginery of some appalling Vision 

Of World-wreck and Despair, 
Dissolve with slow, eclipse-like, dread transi- 
tion, 

Into the infinite air ! 



52 PRELUDE. 

And leave to greet the astonished gaze of na- 
tions, 

As by the quake upheaved, 
The fairest Land that Freedom ever smiled on, 

Or Fantasy conceived ! 

A Land wherein, by grace of the God of Heaven, 

And the Memory of the Brave, 
No man shall henceforth dare to be a traitor, 

Nor brook to be a slave ! 



THE RHYME OF THE MASTER'S MATE. 
FORT HENRY. 

None who saw it can forget 
How they went into the fight, 

Four abreast, — 
Thereby was the foe perplexed, — 
With the Essex on the right, 
That is nearest to the Fort — 
And the Cincinnati next, 
The St. Louis on her left, 
All so gallant and so deft — 

And the brave Carondelet. 

Boom ! boom ! from every bow : 
(They '11 have to answer that !) 



54 THE RHYME OF THE MASTER'S MATE. 

From the Rebel bastions, now, 

There 's a flash. 
Cool, keep cool, boys, — don't be rash ; 
Mind your eyes, as the old Boss said ; 
Keep together and go ahead, — 
Not too high and not too low, 

Fire slow ! 

Paff! 
Now we have it from the Fort, 
And the Rebels all a-crowing ! 
While the devils'-echoes laugh, 
With a loonish thunder-lowing, 
After every gun's report : 
'T is n't bird-shot they are throwing, 

; T is n't chaff! 

Ping ! Ping ! 
If you 've ever seen the thing 
That can fly without a wing 



THE RHYME OF THE MASTER'S MATE. 55 

Swifter than the Thunder's bird, 
Lightning-clenching, lightning-spurred, 
If you 've ever heard it sing, — 
You will understand the word, 

And look out ; 

For beyond a mortal doubt, 

It can sting ! 

Thump ! 
? D y' ever hear anything like it ? 
Sounded very much like a ten-strike — it 
Appears they ; re after a spare ! 
Bet it made the old Boss jump, 
Or at any rate awfully screw up his brows, 

Hit the pilot-house, — 

And he 7 s up there, — 
Must V been a hundred-pounder, 
Had the twang of a conical ball, 
Would V gone plumb through a ten-foot wall. 

Is n't the old Cine a trump ? 



56 THE RHYME OF THE MASTER'S MATE. 

They meant that for a damper ! 
Square it off with an eighty shell 
And a fifteen-second fuse, 
(With all the latest news !) — 
Pretty well done, boys — pretty well ! 
Guess that '11 be apt to tell 
'Em all about where it came from, 
And where it 's a-going to, — 
What it took its name from, 
And all it ? s a-knowing to ! 
See 'em scamper ! 

The Conestoga, the Tyler, 

And the Lexington, you know, 

Are in line a half a mile, or 
A little less, below, 

Just this side of the Panther 
(Little woody island). 

They 've their orders Oh ! 

But, after all, how can their 



THE RHYME OP THE MASTER'S MATE. 57 

Wooden-heads keep silent ? 
Wonder 'f it don't make 'em feel bad, 
Even if they ain't all steeZ-clad, 
At being slighted so ! 

'T is n't so bad a day, 
Although it 's a little cloudy ; 
Or rather, as one might say, 

Smoky, perhaps, — 
A little hazy, a little dubious, 
A little too sulphury to be salubrious ! 
D' ye mind those thunder-claps ? 
Do you feel now and then the least little bit 
Of an incipient earthquake fit ? 
Accompanied with awful raps ? 
But give 'em gowdy ! give 'em gowdy ! 

And it '11 soon clear away ! 

Old Boss ain't to be balked ! — 
All this, you know, 



58 THE RHYME OF THE MASTER'S MATE. 

Was only the way (or nearly so) 

The boys talked, 
And felt and thought, — 

And acted, too, — 
The harder they fought 
And the hotter it grew. 

But there was a Hand at the reel 

That nobody saw ! 
Old Hickory there at every keel, 
In every timber, from stem to stern ! 
A something — in every crank and wheel, 
That made 'em answer their turn ! 

And everywhere, 
On earth and water, in fire and air, 
As it were to see it all well done, 
The Wraith of the murdered Law — 
Old John Brown at every gun ! 

But the Fort was all in a roar : 

No use to talk, they had the range, — 



THE RHYME OF THE MASTER'S MATE. 59 

Which was n't strange, — 
Guess they 'd tried it before ! — 
And the pounding was not soft, 
But might well appall 
The boldest heart. 

Cool and calm, 
Trumpet in hand, 
Up in the cock-loft, 
Where ? t was the hottest of all, 
Our brave old Commodore 
Took his stand, 
And played his part, 
Humming over some old psalm ! 

Tut ! did ye hear the hiss and scream 

Of that hot steam ? 
It 's the Essex that 's struck, — 
She never had any luck : 
Ah ! 't was a wicked shot, 
And, whether they know it or not, 



60 THE RHYME OF THE MASTER'S MATE. 

It does n't give us joy ! 
Thorough an open port it flew, 
As with some special permit to destroy ; 

And first, for sport, 
Struck the soul from that beautiful boy ; 
Then through the bulkhead lunged, 
And into the boiler plunged, 

Scalding the whole crew ! 

We know that the brave must fall, 
But that was a sight to see : 

Twenty-three, 
All in an instant scalded and scathed, 
All at once in the white shroud swathed ! 
A low moan came from the deck 
Of the drifting wreck, — 

And that was all. 

How the traitors '11 boast, 
As soon as they come to see her 



THE RHYME OF THE MASTER'S MATE. 61 

All adrift and aghast ! 
Hark ! d' ye hear ? d' ye hear ? 
D ; ye hear 'em shout ? 
They see it already, no doubt. 
We shall have to count her out, — 
That white breath was her last, — ■ 

She has given up the ghost ! 

What does the old Boss think ? 

Will he shrink ? 
Will he waver or falter now ? 
A little shadow flits over his brow, 
For the sharp pang in his heart : 
Flits over — and is gone ! 
And a light looms up in his old gray eye. 
Whether you see it or not, 
That is like a sudden dawn 

In a stormy sky ! 

What does ne think ? — 
What will he do ? 



62 THE RHYME OF THE MASTER'S MATE. 

Well ! he don't say ! 
But I '11 tell you what, 

You can bet your life, 
As you would your knife, 
(And your wife, too,) 

He '11 do, 
And put 'em up at once : 
He '11 run these boats right up to their guns, 

And take that Fort, or sink ! 

But, oh — oh, it was hot ! 

So thick and fast the solid shot 

Upon our iron armor played, 

It kept, like thunder, a kind of time, — 

Devil's tattoo or gallopade, ■ — 

That, like an awful, awful rhyme, 

Rang in the ear ; 
And they sent us cheer after cheer. 

But the boys had been to school, 
And their guns were not cool ! 



THE RHYME OP THE MASTER'S MATE. 63 

For they knew what Cause they served, » 
And not a man of 'em swerved ! 
But on, right on, they swept, 
And from every grim bow-port 
Their nutmegs and shell-barks leaped 

Into the jaws of the Fort ! 
And (to give her, perhaps, a chance to breathe) 
Knocked out some of her big, black teeth ! 
And (to raise a better crop, no doubt, 
Than was ever raised there before) 
Ploughed her up into awful creases, — 

Inside and out ! — 
For now they were up and doing the chore 
At only four hundred yards, 
And the death-dealing shreds and shards 
Of our shell were tearing 'em all to pieces ! 

Hurrah for the brave old Flag ! 
To triumph see her ride ! — 
Ha, ha ! they dodge and duck ! 



64 THE RHYME OF THE MASTER'S MATE. 

The Snake 's expiring, — 
Their gunners run and hide ! 
By heaven, they 've struck ! 
Down comes the rattlesnake rag 

By the run, — 
Stop the firing ! 

The work is done ! 

— Anyhow, she '11 do for batter ! 
You see now, Butternuts, you were plucky ; 
But that ain't " what 's the matter," — 

Not by a long shot ! 
No, no, — no ! I '11 tell you what — 
And you must n't take it at all amiss — 
I '11 tell you what the matter is : 
'T ain't because you were born unlucky, 

(Bear in mind,) 
Nor that you 've good eyes and we are 
blind, — 
Nothing of the kind ! 



THE RHYME OF THE MASTER'S MATE. 65 

But it 7 s something else, if it is n't more : 

The reason — pardon ! — you had to cotton 

Was simply this : 

S^^ Your Cause was rotten : 

Rotten to the very core : 

That ? s " what 's the matter ! " 

But you ought to V heard our water-dogs yelp ! — 
Just an hour and fifteen minutes ! — 
(Twitter away, you English linnets !) 

Horizontal and perpendicular, 

Fair and square, without any help, — 
That is, any in particular, — 

The old ferry wash-tubs of the West 

With some new-fashioned hoops, — for a little test, 

And a few old pounders from — Kingdom Come, 

And nothing for suds but the — Nawth'n scum, 

Made these " genTmen " turn as white 

As a head o 7 hair in a single night ! 

Cleaned their army completely out, 



66 THE RHYME OP THE MASTER'S MATE. 

(We 're going to give that another wipe !) 
On the double-quick, by the shortest route : 
Wrung their stronghold from their gripe, 
Brought their garrison right to taw, 
And made 'em get down to the " higher law " ! 

So that when Grant and his boys came up, — 

There 's places enough for a man to die ! — 

Swearing that we had "spiled" the " sport," 

With a quiet twinkle in his eye, 
Old Boss asked ; em to come in and sup, 
And set 'em to house-keeping — in the Fort ! — 
But all the old fellow could say or do, 
They 'd still keep a-going it : " Bully for you ! " 

Bully for Grant and for Foote ! 

E'en if the voice must tremble : 
And Bully for all who helped 'em to do 't ! 

Bully for Porter and Stemble ! 
For Paulding and for Walke, — 



THE RHYME OF THE MASTER'S MATE. 67 

For Phelps, for Gwin, and for Shirk ! 
But what 7 s the use to talk ? — 
They were all of 'em up to the work ! 

Bully for each brave tub 
That bore the Union Blue ! 
And for every mother's son 
Of every gallant crew, 
Whatever his color or name, 
Who — when it came to the rub — 
Shall be found to have been — game! 



Such was the Ehyme of the Master's Mate, 
Just as they found it in the locker, 
With this at the foot : 

" It 's getting late, 
And I hear a pretty loud Knock at the knocker ! 
Captain, if I should chance to fall, 
Try to send me home. Good bye ! " That ; s all, 
Excepting the date, the name, and rank : 

" Feb. 12th, '62, , 

Master's Mate." 



68 THE RHYME OF THE MASTER'S MATE. 

Three days after, at rise of sun, 
Just below Fort Donelson, 
On the Cumberland River lay a wreck : 
And the Captain stood again, 
Upon his deck, 
And to the living said : 
" Wrap him in the ship's flag, men ! " 



IN STATE. 

I. 

Keeper of the Sacred Key, 
And the Great Seal of Destiny, 
Whose eye is the blue canopy, 
Look down upon the warring world, and tell us what 
the end will be. 

" Lo, through the wintry atmosphere, 
On the white bosom of the sphere, 
A cluster of five lakes appear ; 
And all the land looks like a couch, or warrior's 
shield, or sheeted bier. 

" And on that vast and hollow field, 
With both lips closed and both eyes sealed, 
A mighty Figure is revealed, — 
Stretched at full length, and stiff and stark, 
as in the hollow of a shield. 



70 IN STATE 

" The winds have tied the drifted snow- 
Around the face and chin ; and lo, 
The sceptred Giants come and go, 
And shake their shadowy crowns and say : " We 
always feared it would be so ! " 

" She came of an heroic race : 
A giant's strength, a maiden's grace, 
Like two in one seem to embrace, 
And match, and blend, and thorough-blend, in her 
colossal form and face. 

" Where can her dazzling falchion be ? 
One hand is fallen in the sea ; 
The Gulf-Stream drifts it far and free ; 
And in that hand her shining brand gleams from the 
depths resplendently. 

" And by the other, in its rest, 
The starry banner of the West 



IN STATE. 71 

Is clasped forever to her breast ; 
And of her silver helmet, lo, a soaring eagle is the 
crest. 

"And on her brow, a softened light, 
As of a star concealed from sight 
By some thin veil of fleecy white, — 
Or of the rising moon behind the rainy vapors of the 
night. 

" The Sisterhood that was so sweet, 
The Starry System sphered complete, 
Which the mazed Orient used to greet, 
The Four and Thirty fallen Stars glimmer and glitter 
at her feet. 

" And over her, — and over all, 
For panoply and coronal, — 
The mighty Immemorial, 
And everlasting Canopy and starry Arch and Shield 
of All." 



72 IN STATE. 



II. 

" Three cold, bright moons have marched and 

wheeled ; 
And the white cerement that revealed 
A Figure stretched upon a Shield, 
Is turned to verdure ; and the Land is now one 

mighty Battle-Field. 

"And lo, the children which she bred, 
And more than all else cherished, 
To make them true in heart and head, 
Stand face to face, as mortal foes, with their swords 
crossed above the dead. 

" Each hath a mighty stroke and stride : 
One true — the more that he is tried ; 
The other dark and evil-eyed ; — 
And by the hand of one of them, his own dear 
mother surely died ! 



IN STATE. 73 

" A stealthy step — a gleam of hell, — 
It is the simple truth to tell, — 
The Son stabbed and the Mother fell : 
And so she lies, all mute and pale, and pure and 
irreproachable ! 

" And then the battle-trumpet blew ; 
And the true brother sprang and drew 
His blade to smite the traitor through ; 
And so they clashed above the bier, and the Night 
sweated bloody dew. 

" And all their children, far and wide, 
That are so greatly multiplied, 
Eise up in frensy and divide ; 
And choosing, each whom he will serve, unsheathe 
the sword and take their side. 

" And in the low sun's bloodshot rays, 
Portentous of the coming days, 



74 IN STATE. 

The Two great Oceans blush and blaze, 
With the emergent continent between them, wrapt 
in crimson haze. 

" Now whichsoever stand or fall, 
As God is great and man is small, 
The Truth shall triumph over all, — 
Forever and forevermore, the Truth shall triumph 
over all ! " 



III. 

" I see the champion sword-strokes flash ; 
I see them fall and hear them clash ; 
I hear the murderous engines crash ; 
I see a brother stoop to loose a foeman-brother's 
bloody sash. 

" I see the torn and mangled corse, 
The dead and dying heaped in scores, 



IN STATE. 75 

The headless rider by his horse, 
The wounded captive bayoneted through and through 
without remorse. 

" I hear the dying sufferer cry, 
With his crushed face turned to the sky, 
I see him crawl in agony 
To the foul pool, and bow his head into its bloody 
slime and die. 

"I see the assassin crouch and fire, 
I see his victim fall — expire ; 
I see the murderer creeping nigher 
To strip the dead: He turns the head : The face ! 
The son beholds his sire ! 

" I hear the curses and the thanks ; 
I see the mad charge on the flanks, 
The rents — the gaps — the broken ranks, — 
The vanquished squadrons driven headlong down the 
river's bridgeless banks. 



76 IN STATE. 

" I see the death-gripe on the plain, 
The grappling monsters on the main, 
The tens of thousands that are slain, 
And all the speechless suffering and agony of heart 
and brain. 

" I see the dark and bloody spots, 
The crowded rooms and crowded cots, 
The bleaching bones, the battle-blots, — 
And writ on many a nameless grave, a legend of 
forget-me-nots. 

" I see the gorged prison-den, 
The dead line and the pent-up pen, 
The thousands quartered in the fen, 
The living-deaths of skin and bone that were the 
goodly shapes of men. 

" And still the bloody Dew must fall! 
And His great Darkness with the Pall 



IN STATE. 77 

Of His dread Judgment cover all, 
Till the Dead Nation rise Transformed by Truth to 
triumph over all ! " 



And last — and last I see — The DeedJ 



Thus saith the Keeper of the Key, 
And the Great Seal of Destiny, 
Whose Eye is the blue canopy, 
And leaves the Pall of His great Darkness over all 
the Land and Sea. 



EMANCIPATION HYMN. 

did ye hear 

That Clarion clear 
That sounded over land and sea ? 

" Absolve the ban 

Of Canaan : " 
It was the Trump of Jubilee ! 

Lo, as of old, 

Again behold, 
The waves divide amidst the sea ! 

Again thy rod 

Prevails, God, 
And turns the tide to Jubilee ! 



EMANCIPATION HYMN. 79 

Thy Cloud by day 

Still leads the way ; 
And flaming back across the sea, 

Thro' Dark and Dire, 

Thy Pillared Fire, 
The beacon-blaze of Jubilee ! 

Thou lettest, Lord, 

Thy Living Word 
Again go forth from sea to sea : 

" Absolve the ban 

That fetters Man : 
Proclaim, proclaim the Jubilee ! " 



ECCE SIGNUM. 

To the Westward the wild ruins of the Tempest roll 

away ; 
And the pomp of sunset closes the long tumult of 

the day. 

Softly thrown back from her tresses floats the winged 
mantle-mist ; 

One foot on the land is resting, — one is by the bil- 
lows kissed. 

All the Kingdoms and their creatures are extended 

round her seat ; 
And a Vessel, like a child's-toy rides and dances 

at her feet. 



ECCE SIGNUM. 81 

Rising over her left shoulder the moon waxes to her 
will; 

And the Day's departing footsteps glorify the moun- 
tains still. 

Rests a white dove in her bosom, with an olive- 
branch of balm ; 

And The heavenly Bow of Promise consecrates her 
brows to calm. 

the deep repose and beauty of that form who may 

declare, 
As revealed through the transparent drapery of the 

twilight air ! 

The last light is on her forehead : at her feet the 

darkness cowers : 
She is gazing towards the sunset, and her lap is full 

of flowers. 

4* F 



82 ECCE SIGNUM. 

And a more than mortal Pathos over all her face is 

cast, 
As if she were gazing backward upon all that which 

is past. 

And a Light that is not sunlight, hovers round her 

lips the while, 
Like the tender and prophetic intimation of a smile. 

As if she were gazing forward through the sacred 

Mystery 
Of the Infinite Hereafter and of all that is To Be. 

And enraptured by the grandeur of the Vision that 

she saw, 
And transfigured in its glory, could but gaze in 

silent awe ! 



THE CHURCH. 

One little group was kneeling far down the silent 

nave, 
As in the very Valley and deep Shadow of the 

Grave. 

Then a sound low as the accents heard when little 

children pray, 
Struggled up into the silence, and in silence died 

away. 

Tones of deep and holy Passion, as for some abiding 

Loss, 
Rising now above the Altar, seemed to hover round 

the Cross. 



84 THE CHURCH. 

Then the interval was broken with a burst of thun- 
der tones ! 

And the Music shook the Temple to its foundation 
stones ! 

Then methought : "Again the Samson wrestles with 

the heathen walls " ; 
And I heard above the tumult cried, " The House 

of Dagon falls!" 

And I saw the walls and columns rock and totter to 

and fro, 
Till they toppled down and thundered into the abyss 

below ! 

But the little group — behold it ! — all unscathed 

amidst the shock, 
Kneeling in the open sunshine, on the Everlasting 

Rock! 



A VALEDICTORY. 

The Infinite fills one and all : 
The little animated mote, 
That on a rose's breath might float, 
Or on a sunbeam rise and doat, 

God liveth in him, still and small. 

Wherefore the earth in eld began, 
And God in ancient darkness wrought : 
That matter might, at length, be brought 
To palpitate with Life and Thought, 

And take in Thee the mould of Man. 

Incalculable epochs past, 
The Void hath filled, the Vague hath cleared, 
The orbs, in music, matched and sphered, 



86 A VALEDICTORY. 

Till in its orbit earth appeared, 

And, ont of earth, Thyself, at last. 

" Thou art of too Divine a Birth/' 
The conscious Soul within thee saith, 
" To think the Second-Birth, called Death, 
Can quench thine Inner pulse and breath, 

Or down-dissolve thee into earth " : 

" For all the members intimate, 
By signs of growth that are as clear 
As any music to the ear, 
That thou art merely passing here 

Through a prelusive phase or state : 

" And that, within thee, something swims, 
Of which thy body is the sign, 
Whereof a good eye can divine 
A taking-shape, a mystic shine, 

And the glimmer of immortal limbs. 



A VALEDICTORY. 87 

"As in a puck-etched acorn-cup, 
A searching soul can clearly see 
The forethought and epitome 
Of that majestic Forest-Tree, 

Which from it surely shall come up. 

" Nor can one urge that, inasmuch, 
As in some coming century, 
The Oak shall fall, and so shall lie, 
That so, in sooth, must thou and I, 

And Man and Tree be such and such : 

" The Tree falls, but it lieth, not : 
Five hundred years be past and lo, 
What is there of it left to show ? 
The Tree is gone : Where did it go ? 

The Vanished Tree replieth not. 

" The Tree falls, but it lieth not : 
Where once it stood — alone perchance, 



88 A VALEDICTORY. 

The family of the forest stands ; 
Or the monster of the million-hands, — 
The Vanished Tree replieth not ! 

"The Trunk that long outbraved the storms, 
Hath doubtless entered other forms ; 
The Living Spirit of the Tree 
Dissolved forevermore may be : 

But why should that discourage Thee ? 

" All animated as thou art, 
By that inherent Man of Fire, 
That gives thee Life and its desire, 
And all thy power to aspire 

Unto a better life and heart, — 

" Thou shalt not render to distrust 
A moment's tribute ! But shalt give 
Thyself assurance that To Live, 
Is a godlike prerogative ; 

To Die, — but to shake off the dust! 



A VALEDICTORY. 89 

" As well, in sooth, tear-blur the eye, 
And pass the summer morn in dole, 
Over the cast-off husk or poll 
Of some old symbol of the Soul — 

The swaddle of the butterfly : 

" While near at hand the very while, 
Her little dross-divested sprite 
Spreads wings like Psyche, for a flight 
Into illimitable light, 

To revel in the Summer's smile. 

" Behold thy little daughter, Grace : 
Lo, canst thou not identify 
Thyself in her as verily, 
As in the love-blue of her eye 

The mirrored image of thy face ? 

"For all thou ever wast, before 
Her speechless smile blessed thee for thine, 



90 A VALEDICTORY. 

With mother-grace did intertwine, 
An endless with an endless line, 

To live through her forevermore ! 

" Nor only in thy seed thy soul 
Shall thrid the cycles : But above, 
Through ways and worlds thou know'st not of, 
Thou shalt, thyself, be led by Love, 

To some conception of the Whole. 

" And thou wilt find, from first to last, 
Through all thy varying career, 
In passing on from sphere to sphere, 
Thou only, livest, — Now and Here, — 

In that one moment which thou hast. 

" And that in knowing Nature's needs, 
Through thy great-hearted sympathy, 
With God and with Humanity, 
Thou hast an Immortality, 

To consecrate to noble deeds." 



THE POET'S EPILOGUE. 



As evening insects covet flame, 
Do foolish men a little fame. 



THE POET'S EPILOGUE. 
I. 

AUTUMN SONG. 

In Spring the Poet is glad, 

And in Summer the Poet is gay ; 
But in Autumn the Poet is sad, 

And has something sad to say : 

For the Wind moans in the Wood, 

And the Leaf drops from the Tree ; 
And the cold Eain falls on the graves of the Good, 

And the cold Mist comes up from the Sea : 

And the Autumn Songs of the Poet's soul 

Are set to the passionate grief, 
Of Winds that sough and Bells that toll, 

The Dirge of the Falling Leaf. 



94 the poet's epilogue. 



II. 



the enemy. 

It was the dead 
Of the long, long dark night ; 
And in my silent chamber the dim light 
• A pallid lustre shed. 

Then with more care 
Than is my wont withal, 
I wended down the staircase, through the hall, 
Into the open air. 

And walked apart, 
To feel the midnight spell ; 
And see if aught, perchance there were, not well, 
Around my house and heart. 

But by and by, 
While yet I paced the court, — 
As might the sentry of some sleeping fort, — 
I heard a sudden cry. 



the poet's epilogue. 95 

And well aware 
The Wolf was in the fold, 
I sprang into my chamber : and behold, 
Mine Enemy was there ! 

Dark eidolon ! 
As still as Death — agape, 
Stretched at full length mid-floor, there was a Shape, 
Which the lamp glared upon 

But, at the touch, 
As I strode on him right, 
Lo, he was standing all at once his height, 
And I was in his clutch ! 

On the bare bone 
Did seem to shift and slide 
The serpent-supple skin ; and the ribbed side 
Did grate against my own. 



96 the poet's epilogue. 

Each eye of flame 
Glared as from some deep delf ; 
And he did cleave as if to crush himself 
Into this mortal frame. 

And I, to check, 
Could then but straightway cast- 
Around his bony shoulders, and make fast 
Unto his gaunt crook-neck. 

And a strange strength 
Did suddenly involve 
And string my sinews with seven-fold resolve 
To conquer him at length ! 

But his close fold 
He tightened ; and did make 
Fierce and terrific writhings, as to break 
Mine unrelinquished hold. 



the poet's epilogue. 97 

But at its worth, 
I clave to mine intent ; 
And at the first faint sign that he was spent, 
Did straightway drag him forth. 

God give us grace ! 
Forthwith each bony beak 
Of his gaunt chin, and jaw, and hollow cheek, 
Were thrust into my face ! 

But as before, 
Was strength vouchsafed to check, — 
And vantage still, by chance of his deathVneck, 
To hale him down to door. 

Then he did strain 
His last ; and in the wrench, 
Off brake the skull-head to its socket's clench ! 
I hurled it forth amain ! 



98 the poet's epilogue. 

And it did bowl 
And bump the curb ! and sheer, 
The Headless headlong, down, did disappear! — 
And Peace came to my Soul ! 

And naught could chafe 
Or chide me as I knelt 
Beside my glimmering couch, at length, and felt 
That my Beloved were safe. 

And at first beam 
Of morn without, did dawn 
A sunrise in my senses : The foregone 
Had vanished like a dream. 

Then I did sing : 
" Love, thou hast strength to save ! 
Hosanna, Lord ! Where is thy Victory, Grave ? 
Death, where is thy sting ? " 



the poet's epilogue. 99 

III. 

THE LAST WATCH. 
I. 

The stars shine down through the shivering boughs, 

And the moonset sparkles against the spire • 
There is not a light in a neighbor's house, 
Save one that burneth low, 

And seemeth almost spent ! 
With shadowy forms in dark attire 
Flickering in it to and fro, 
As if in Pain and Doubt — 
And heads bowed down in tears ! 
Hark! 
Was there not Lament ? — 
Behold, behold the Light burns out ! 
The Picture disappears ! 

ii. 
Ye who with such sleepless sleight, 
In the chamber out of sight, 

LOFC. 



100 THE POET'S EPILOGUE. 

Whispering low, 

To and fro, 
Your swift needles secretly 
At the dead of night do ply, — 

What is it that ye sew! 

m. 

"Hark! Hark! 
Heard ye not the sounds aloof, 
As of winds or wings that swept the roof? 
Band of heavenly voices blending, 
Choir of seraphim ascending ? 
Hark! Hark!" 

IV. 

"Away! Away! 
Behold, behold it is the day ! 
Bear her softly out of the door ; 
And upward, upward, upward soar ! " 



THE POET'S EPILOGUE. 101 



IV. 



L' INCORONATA. 

Come, thou stillest of all Hours, 
Let abroad go nothing ill ; 

That the Vestals of the Flowers 
May their mystic rites fulfil. 

On her brow is set the splendor 

Of the Everlasting Seal ; 
And behold the Vestals enter, 

And around The Maiden kneel ! 

Slowly as sweet incense stealing 
Upward on the Sabbath air, 

All arising from their kneeling, 
Take the flowers from their hair 

Noiseless-footed, odor-breathing, 
Azure-bodied, vapor-slow, — 

All around and round her wreathing, 
Doth the lovely Chorus go ! 



102 the poet's epilogue. 

None with weeping, none with grieving, 
Being pure forevermore ! — 

What are they so fondly weaving 
Of the Flowers which they wore ? 

'T is the Wreath ! 
; T is the Heavenly Wreath ! 
'T is the Wreath of the Heart's Desire, 
7 T is the Wreath of the Vestal Choir ! 

'T is the Vestal Wreath. 

" Twine ! Vestal Sisters ! Twine ! 

All in sweetest surety ; 
Twine the Valley-Lily's bells 
With Maidenhair, and Immortelles, 

And all the Flowers of Purity, — 
Vestal Sisters, twine and twine ! 

" Round and round the virgin brow, 
Holy keep the Vestal Vow ! 



the poet's epilogue. 103 

Sacred keep the Vestal Spell : 
Weave it deep and weave it well ! 
Weave it sweet and weave it sure! 
Blessed, blessed are the Pure. 

"Twine! Twine! 
Sisters, ere the moon is set, 
Twine the white, White Violet, — 
While the Vestal dews are on it yet, — 
With the myriad-starred Mignonette ; 

Twine, Vestal Sisters, twine ! 

" Hand to hand around her head, 
With a blossom-light, slow tread ! 
Leaf to leaf, and stem to stem, 
Weave the Vestal Diadem! — 
Crescent, Crown, and Cynosure : 
Blessed, blessed are the Pure. 

" And twine, twine, twine, 
The Fairest of all the Vestal Flowers, 



104 the poet's epilogue. 

That bloom in the blessed Eden-bowers 
Of the Heart below, or the Heaven above : 
The Maiden Flower of The Maiden's Love I 
Twine, Vestal Sisters, twine ! 

" Crowned is the virgin brow! 
Holy kept the Vestal Vow ! 
Sacred kept the Vestal Spell : 
She is crowned and crowned well ! 
Crowned sweet and crowned sure I 
Blessed, blessed are the Pure." 



the poet's epilogue. 105 

V. 

NO MORE. 

This is the Burden of the Heart, 
The Burden that it always bore : 

We live to love ; we meet to part ; 
And part to meet on earth No More : 

We clasp each other to the heart, 
And part to meet on earth No More. 

There is a time for tears to start, — 
For dews to fall and larks to soar : 

The Time for Tears, is when we part 
To meet upon the earth No More : 

The Time for Tears, is when we part 
To meet on this wide earth — No More. 



5* 



106 the poet's epilogue. 



VI. 



LA SCINTILLA. 

" I lie in the shadow of the Earth," 

Said I to my Soul, 
" In the depths of mine abysmal birth ; 
And the Darkness is deep on my house and my hearth 
There is not a star, — there is not a spark, — 
And my life it is exceeding dark, 

My life is very dark." 

" say not so ! say not so ! " 

(Said the Voice of my Soul,) 
" For the Dawn will come and the Night will go : 
Nay, nay, there is even now a glow 
On the vast Altar of the Night, — 
There ? s a glimpse of the coming Light, 

A gleam of the Heavenly Light ! " 



the poet's epilogue. 107 

" It is the mock-light of a dream!" 

Said I to my Soul, 
" The torch-wraith of the marish stream, 
Or only the dying glow-worm's gleam ! — 
My Hearth is cold and my Altar stark, 
The earth is cold and the heavens are dark, 

All dark, — all cold and dark." 

" say not so ! say not so ! " — 

(Said the Voice of my Soul,) 
And she spake in a tone as sweet and low 
As the first faint murmur and lapse and flow 
Of the dawning Day to the dying Night, 
" Behold, there is even now a Light — 

A little Spark of Light!" 

" Alas, dear Soul, and alas for me ! " 

Said I to my Soul, 
" Alas, for an eye that cannot see, 
And alas, for a bliss that can never be ! 
'T is but the phosphor's fitful spark 



108 the poet's epilogue. 

That will vanish away and leave it dark, 
And leave it just as dark." 

" nay ! For it surely is not so ! " 
(Said the Voice of my Soul,) 

And the wreath of an arm as white as snow 

Was woven around me ! And lo, and lo ! 

As she spake, it came in sight ! 

And behold, it was the Living Light, 
A Spark of the Living Light ! 

" Is it the gleam and the glamoury," 

Said I to my Soul, 
" Of a starry Eyebeam that I see ? 
tell me, — what ? — what can it be ? " 
And I looked again : and behold, The Spark 
Shone out like a little face in the dark, 

Like a Little Face in the dark ! 

" it is not an eye-beam that we see," 
Said the Voice of my Soul! 



the poet's epilogue. 109 

" But the Beam of The Little Soul/' said she, 
" That is gone to its Immortality ! 
And that cometh down at the dead of The Night, 
To guide us up to the Gates of Light, 

To the Fountain-head of Light ! " 

" Then Come ! and with it let us go ! " 

Said I to my Soul : 
And she raised me up in her arms of snow! 
And the Darkness vanished in a glow 
Of rapture unspeakable from our sight ! 
And the Universe was a flood of Light, 

Of Harmony and Light ! 



110 THE POET'S EPILOGUE. 



VII. 



THE VOICE. 



A saintly Voice fell on my ear 

Out of the dewy atmosphere : 

" hush, dear Bird of Night, be mute ; 

Be still, throbbing" heart and lute ! " 

The Night-Bird shook the sparkling dew 

Upon me as he ruffed and flew ; 

My heart was still, almost as soon, 

My lute as silent as the moon : 

I hushed my heart, and held my breath, 

And would have died the death of death, 

To hear, — but just once more, — to hear 

That Voice within the atmosphere. 

Again The Voice fell on my ear, 

Out of the dewy atmosphere ! 

The same words, but half heard at first, — 

I listened with a quenchless thirst ; 



THE POET'S EPILOGUE. HI 

And drank as of that heavenly balm, 
The Silence that succeeds a psalm : 
My soul to ecstasy was stirred : 
It was a Voice that I had heard 
A thousand blissful times before ; 
But deemed that I should hear no more 
Till I should have a Spirit's ear, 
And breathe another Atmosphere ! 

Then there was Silence in my ear, 
And Silence in the atmosphere ; 
And silent moonshine on the mart, 
And Peace and Silence in my heart ; 
But suddenly a dark Doubt said : 
" The fancy of a fevered head ! " 
A wild, quick whirlwind of desire 
Then wrapt me as in folds of fire : 
I ran the strange words o'er and o'er, 
And listened breathlessly once more : 
And lo, the third time, I did hear 
The same words in the atmosphere ! 



112 THE POET'S EPILOGUE. 

They fell and died upon my ear, 

As dew dies on the atmosphere : 

And then an intense yearning- thrilled 

My Soul, that all might be fulfilled : 

" Where art thou, Blessed Spirit, where ? 

Whose Voice is dew upon the air ! " 

I looked, around me, and above, 

And cried aloud : " Where art thou, Love ? 

let me see thy living eye, 

And clasp thy living hand, or die ! 9> 

Again, upon the atmosphere, 

The self-same words fell : " I Am Here. 19 



" Here ? Thou art here, Love ! " "I Am Here : " 

The echo died upon my ear : 

I looked around me — everywhere ; 

But Ah ! there was no mortal there ! 

The moonlight was upon the mart, 

And Awe and Wonder in my heart! 



THE POET'S EPILOGUE. 113 

I saw no form ! — I only felt 
Heaven's Peace upon me as I knelt : 
And knew a Soul Beatified 
Was at that moment by my side ! 
And there was Silence in my ear, 
And Silence in the atmosphere ! 



114 THE POET'S EPILOGUE. 



VIII. 

I SAID TO THE ROSE. 

I said to the Kose, 

"Thy Palace close, 
For the Summer is gone before ! " 

I said to the Lark, 

"The Night is dark, 
And the Morning will come no more ! " 

But behold, behold, 

From the Misty Fold, 
That beautiful Image seems, 

With lifted veil, 

To give me "Hail/ 7 
And to beckon me Home in dreams ! 

And again the hush 
Of my heart is a flush 



THE POET'S EPILOGUE. 115 

And a flood of glad refrains ! 

And the dying Night 

Is wrapt in a white, 
Strange death-sheet of sweet strains ! 



THE END. 



Cambridge : Stereotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co. 



